


since feeling is first

by alaynestone



Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M, a bit everyone x mc tbh, kinda angsty, lots of pining anyway, possibly some cigarette romanticization? idk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-29
Updated: 2016-10-29
Packaged: 2018-08-27 19:01:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8413003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alaynestone/pseuds/alaynestone
Summary: “You know,” she says thoughtfully, “maybe we really should quit smoking.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> college AU because i couldn't stop thinking about that conversation in-game where zen talks about why none of them have a girlfriend and that,for him, it would be because he's a workaholic. mainly focused on how dynamics would change if zen wasn't a well-established actor when MC meets him, so yeah.
> 
> primarily zen/mc, but a little bit of everyone/mc if you squint.
> 
> oh! and title's from an ee cumming's poem of the same name.
> 
> (btw. is it an unpopular opinion to say that, while i love 707, my heart ultimately belongs to zen?)
> 
> enjoy, folks.

They meet her on account of a strange text message instructing her to go to their meeting room the first day of class. By coincidence or fate or what-have-you, she knocks on the door of their clubroom during the RFA’s first meeting for the school year all the same anyway.

Zen observes the brunette girl presently standing outside the room waiting for their verdict. “She looks harmless.”

“I think so too!” Yoosung agrees, nodding enthusiastically.

“Still, we cannot discount how suspicious the circumstances involved here are...” Jaehee points out, though even Zen himself could hear how half-hearted the sentiment is.

“Well... that’s true,” Zen says grudgingly.

With Rika gone and V having graduated the previous semester, things simply haven’t been the same in the RFA. The meeting room itself felt different, heavy, and they haven’t held a single party in almost a year now.

The RFA anniversary is coming up soon and it’s necessary for them to do something to commemorate the organization in a few months, and the charities they donate to or risk estrangement. The university has also given them a disbandment warning if no activities are to be held soon, to make matters worse.

Rika’s planning has been excellent through and through, and while Zen doubts anyone can be up to par, there’s something about this small smile of a girl that makes him curious about her.

Seven tips back his chair and plants his feet on the table. Arms bent behind his neck, he raises an eyebrow at Jumin. “Well, it’s your call, Mr. President. What do you say?”

Everyone turns to Jumin.

“Well. First order of business would have been about how much we need new members...” Jumin says thoughtfully. “We do need to host those parties sometime this semester.”

A beat. And then, “So we let her in, I suppose.”

So they do.

&

“Good morning,” the new girl says the next day as she slides into the room, surprising the shit out of Zen in the process.

“Oh! What are you doing here?” Zen sputters in shock, but immediately forces himself to regain composure. He sits up on the couch he has been napping on prior to her arrival and rubs at the sleep in his eyes, but not without offering her his trademark smile.

“Well, I didn’t really have anywhere else to go and my neighbours are so noisy so I thought...” she said before trailing off and surveying the room. “Sorry. I can leave, though—”

“No, stay! Ah, I’m sorry. I’m just not used to seeing anyone else in here outside of meetings, that’s all...” Zen said, running one hand through his hair and motioning to the rest of the room with the other. “Please. Make yourself at home.”

“Are you sure?” she asked, peering up at him with those strange yellow eyes of hers.

“Definitely— company is always appreciated, especially if it came in the form of a cute girl,” he said teasingly, feeling more comfortable now that he has made himself somewhat more presentable. He stretches out his legs before him.

She doesn’t blush or even so much as looked down at her feet, which to Zen is highly impressive. She snorts gently instead and he finds himself wondering if it’s appropriate to find that endearing. “Okay. But _only_ because my place is a shit-hole.”

He laughs. “Hey, at least that’s something that we have that in common.”

“... And maybe I wouldn’t mind the company of a handsome guy, either.”

Zen decides he quite likes her already.

&

They would become friends quickly.

Finding out that she too is a smoker would pave the way easily for that— it feels like a secret that only the two of them shared.

The other members of the RFA knew about their nicotine addiction, of course, but there is something so incredibly intimate about the cigarette breaks: about sneaking off to the rooftops and lighting each other’s cigs and berating each other for the filthy habit before calling each other out on the hypocrisy.

Their friendship would be made of those cigarette breaks, the late nights they would spend at the meeting room as they cram requirements together and lazy afternoons practicing his lines for all the auditions he’s going to.

He sometimes wonder if it’s all really just a coincidence— that strange text she got her first day at SKY— or if it’s a part of some grand scheme the universe has cooked up.

“You know,” he says, one night at the rooftop as they take a break from _Much Ado About Nothing_ , “we’ve only known each other for two months now but I feel like I’ve known you for a long time. Is that weird?”

She puts out her cigarette and grins. “I feel the same way,” she tells him.

&

When he calls to break the news to her, it sounds like she’s even more excited than him, which he might have thought impossible prior to the phone call.

“Zen, I  _told_ you, you were going to get it that role. You’re amazing, you know that?” she shrieks into the phone and he feels embarrassed and touched at the same time. Mostly it's the latter.

"Of course I do," he replies softly, pleased.

“A leading role in a big production! Congratulations, oh my god. This is _it_ , Zen, the big leagues.”

She declares that this event calls for a major celebration and takes upon herself the responsibility of calling everyone to commemorate.

Jumin and Jaehee apologize individually, both offering Zen their congratulations but explaining they can’t come on account of their thesis proposal deadlines. But Yoosung and Seven come together almost immediately in one of Seven’s cars, both armed with Honey Buddha Chips and PhD. Pepper. The latter would not have Zen’s choice of drink but still, it’s the thought that counts, or something. She arrives last but brings the essentials: cigarettes, beer and lamb kebab.

She slips Zen the pack of cigarettes once they're halfway through their first beer. He realizes it’s a pack of Black Angels (his brand, not hers) and he looks up at her questioningly.

“Hey, these aren’t your brand,” he says as he opens the pack and takes a stick out.

“Nope, but it’s yours, right?” she tells him cheerfully, nudging him in the ribs. She lights the stick for him and pulls one out of the pack for herself. “Only the best for you! You’re going to be a big-star now.”

He feels his cheeks warm and he wonders if it’s just the alcohol and whether she notices.

“You know, you're really something else,” he tells her before taking a puff.

-

Seven’s the only one who’s relatively sober by the end of the night: Yoosung has passed out while going on about how glad he is that they have a new member and that it’s  _her,_ of all people, while she’s been laughing about that like it’s the funniest thing ever. And for Zen— well, everything’s kind of wobbly and out-of-focus but aside from that, he’s perfectly fine.

“I think I better take Yoosung home now,” Seven announces at a little past 1 o’clock. He picks Yoosung up by the armpits and drapes one of the younger boy’s arms around his shoulders to help him up.

Zen agrees.

Seven glances her way. “How are you getting home? I can drop you off at your place, if you want.”

“Oh, I think I’ll stay,” she says a little dazedly. “I’ll help Zen clean up.”

It’s a very minor detail, but Zen notices the twitch of Seven’s jaw muscle. “You sure?”

“Yeah, don’t worry about me,” she reassures him with a smile.

“If you say so. Rest up, soon, okay? Class tomorrow.” Seven ruffles her hair. Zen suddenly feels a little territorial and inexplicably annoyed at him. He takes a deep breath.

“Hey, Zen, a little help over here, please?”

Zen stands up, a little shaky on his feet, but he somehow manages to take Yoosung’s other arm. He and Seven practically drag Yoosung to the car, leaving him to curl up immediately in the backseat, mumbling something about LOLOL and the upcoming midterm exams.

“Hey, Zenny, no funny business, okay?” Seven calls out from the driver’s side as Zen’s heading for the door. “I trust you. Take care of her.”

As he’s heading back to his apartment, he can’t help thinking about the unspoken  _or else_  that came with Seven's warning, and wonders if they've all fallen off the deep end.

-

“Princess, come on, time for bed.”

He leads her to his bed and she lies down easily enough. He sits there for a moment, trying to decide whether to sleep beside her or to lie down on the floor instead. He calculates the risks and advantages.

Sleeping on the floor would be  _extremely_ bad for his back and would make for terrible rest.

Sleeping beside her, on the other hand...

 _Fuck it,_ he thinks.

She's his best friend and he can _not_ be having thoughts like this about her. Especially in light of recent events— he just got the break he's been waiting for and distractions, in any form, are something he can’t afford.

_We’re just friends who happen to be sleeping beside each other because there was nowhere else to lie down._

He's not very convincing, he thinks.

He slides into the covers, beside her, careful not to make contact with any part of her skin.

Her long, dark hair fanned out around her head, and her face looked so heartbreakingly peaceful bathed in the moonlight.

 _Dangerous,_ he thinks as his pulse gathers speed. He turns over, screws his eyes shut and hopes for the best.

&

“Zen, I know rehearsals are in full-swing right now but you need to attend class,” she chides him when they find themselves back in the meeting room two weeks later.

He is lying face down on the couch, sleeping the exhaustion of another evening performance. He mumbles something into the pillow.

“What?”

Zen turns around to face her but his eyes remain close.

“I’m dropping out of school,” he says so softly it’s almost a sigh.

“You’re  _what?_ ” she asks and crawls over to him from the table. She shakes his arm gently. “Hey. Come on, Zen. Just another year to go and you’re done.”

He shakes his head, eyes still closed. “School just isn’t for me, princess. I’m going to be fine without that degree, anyway—I’ve been getting a lot of really good offers and university would just get in the way."

“Well... how about we finish this semester? Give uni this last chance and after finals, if you decide you want leave....” she trails off, wondering if he had fallen asleep.

But his hand catches the sleeve of her shirt just as she’s withdrawing her hand. “Fine. Just until the end of this semester, then.”

She stares at his eye lashes, so long that they almost touch the tops of his cheekbones. “Okay.”

“Okay.”

-

It is his first gala night and he is nervous as fuck.

Sure, he’s used to the RFA parties and they  _are_  basically the same thing. The main difference though, and the one that truly matters, is that over here he’s not surrounded by friends.

Everyone present tonight is appraising him, judging from his movements whether he’s actually deserving of the role and those to come after this one.

It drives him edgy, makes him itch for a cigarette.

But he knows his co-actors would send disapproving looks his way if he comes to the function room smelling like an ashtray so he stops himself from reaching into his pocket where he keeps his pack of cigarettes _._

So Zen has, instead, been constantly tugging at the black bowtie the other cast members made him wear. He only stops when his co-star slaps his hand away and tells him to knock it off because he was going to ruin his shirt.

He settles, instead, on scanning the crowd for  _her_ , though it’s proving difficult with the size of the crowd. It isn’t until he and the rest of the cast are called up on stage for the introduction of the cast members that his eyes land on her at table number 7.

She catches his eye as the host introduces the supporting characters and she nods at him encouragingly.

She looks so different in her silky red dress and with her hair done up in some complicated chignon, but so very lovely still. The sight of her makes him regret following Jaehee’s advice.

_Zen, I understand that you’re thinking of inviting... a date to the gala night but I would highly advise against it,” Jaehee had told him when the posters had gone up online and around the campus, surprising him with extensive knowledge of both the workings of the theatre industry and his amateur acting experience._

(And it  _is_ sound advice—he has already been approached by a myriad photographers and interviewers, all itching to talk to theatre’s newest It-boy as they have branded him.  Hell, even a famous director and two well-established actors approached him already to congratulate him on the role.)

So Zen gave up the idea of inviting his best friend as his date and instead handed her two complimentary tickets. She had, in turn, invited Yoosung to accompany her.  _Because Jaehee’s unavailable_ , she felt the need to explain over the phone earlier that day.

They look good together, he has to grudgingly admit, the pair of them having cleaned up nicely.

It’s irrational, this annoyance bubbling inside of him, because he  _knows_  the two of them were here to support him but it hurts anyway—there was an ache in his gut and he doesn’t think it has much to do with nerves nor the withdrawal anymore.

&

 

**707: omg did u hear? they’re going out on a date! can you imagine yoosung on a date lol**

**Zen: I heard. I hope everything goes okay.**

**707: ... you're fine with it?**

**Zen: Of course.**

**707: you sure?**

**Zen: How many times do I have to say it?**

**707: i don’t believe you lololol**

**[ZEN has left the chatroom]**

&

 

He tries his best to catch up with his classes in accordance to his promise to her.

But between rehearsals and school, he doesn’t really have a lot of time to do much else. The RFA is sympathetic, of course, when he informs them he needs to delete the chatroom app, only until the show’s run, so he can focus.

It also gives him time to think of how to come to terms with her and Yoosung’s blossoming relationship, which is something he, unfortunately, can’t get off his mind. Though that's something he doesn't want anyone to know, of course.

“Zen!” hissed Mina, who plays his character’s love interest.

“Oh,” he startles and looks at the script he’s holding in his hand. 

“Stop! Again,” barks their director. “From the top.”

“Sorry,” he  says. 

She nods, but sighs. “Keep your head in the game, Zen.”

He apologizes again.

Three weeks to go before the play runs its course. 

& 

Zen tries not to drink too much when the cast goes out after a show. He limits himself to two drinks each night and endures a lot of ribbing from the others. But tonight, he decides, would be an exception.

It’s closing night and he deserves it.

Everyone at the after-party keeps yelling “Cheers!” in his direction and forcing him to to clink their glasses together before downing the contents in one go. Champagne wouldn’t be his first choice liquor— he’s always been more of a beer person— but it does the job well enough.

“Have another,” an older castmate tells him before signalling to a waiter.

“You were amazing on stage,” a stranger exclaims before asking for a selfie.

“... pretty girl, eyes like a cat's, they were almost yellow…”

“Will I see you at the party next month?” a patron whose name he doesn’t remember asks.

Glass after glass after glass and many congratulations later, he is decidedly drunk. 

“Are you okay?” Eunseo, who plays his character’s brother in the play, asks with great concern when he enters the bathroom.

Zen gives his friend a grin. “I’m perfect.”

“Okay,” Eunseo replies, looking thoroughly unconvinced before heading out.

Zen follows suit after checking himself in the mirror.

As he returns to the lobby, he grabs another glass from a passing waiter and stubbornly tells himself that the color of the liquid doesn’t at all remind him of the color of her eyes.

-

He wakes up, hours later, not quite sure how he managed to get home. He searches for the source of the rude awakening in the dark and squints at his phone. A text message.

 _i’m on the way._ It’s from her.

He blinks at the screen. What?

He scrolls back, to his sent messages from last night. And—

Oh. Shit.

He gets up to take the quickest shower he’s had in a while.

-

Zen dashes to the diner at the corner of his street. He finds her seated at a corner booth and slides in opposite her.

“Hi,” he says awkwardly at the same time she says, “You’re wearing yellow.”

He looks down at the shirt he haphazardly threw on. It’s a shirt he doesn’t wear outside of home because it doesn’t really match his style anymore. “Oh, yeah, I guess so.”

She’s looking at him strangely and it makes him slightly self-conscious and his heart beat a little faster. She flips the menu as if she hasn’t memorized its contents in the dozens of times they’ve eaten here.

“How’s Yoosung?” he can’t help but ask.

She shrugs disinterestedly. “He’s fine, I guess.”

He can’t help it. He asks her, “So... are you two exclusive now?”

She stares at him before laughing. “What are you talking about? We went on one date before we decided we were better off as friends,” she explains through her laughter before admitting, “Besides, I think he only sees me as a sister figure, like Rika or something. Which you’d know all about if you haven’t been so busy.”

“Oh.” He’s immensely embarrassed but even more relieved. “I see.”

“ _Now_ , are you going to tell me why you’ve been ignoring the RFA for weeks only to text me at 2 a.m. on a random night to get brunch?”

 _“I’m in love with you, and I can’t stop thinking about you,”_ he wants to say.

He can’t help but wonder if she thinks he looks good in bright clothes as he looks down ruefully and thinks of something else to say.

“I was drunk at the after-party last night,” he tells her before he relates why he hasn’t been in touch (i.e., the _rehearsals were very intense!_  excuse, of course) and apologizes for being a shitty friend.

“I’m only forgiving you if you help me with the party,” she says once he’s finished his spiel.

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

&

“I’m in love with you, and I can’t stop thinking about you.”

They are back to their usual routine, prior to the play but they have been devoting majority of their time to the RFA party.

They’re at the rooftop of the building, taking a smoking break from printing and cutting the passes for the guests a month later when he blurts it out.

She laughs— _god_ , that laugh of hers— and pulls his face close to hers. Surprised, he settles his hand on her waist and he feels lightheaded as his mouth moves against her. He feels a smile upon her lips and he wonders if she can feel his.

They pull away and both of them stand there for a moment, just staring at each other grinning.

“I wish my eyes were as interesting as yours,” she whispers finally, her hands still placed firmly behind his neck.

“But they are,” he tells her truthfully, his body still buzzing from the kiss.

They both lean in again but she accidentally drops her cigarette, almost burning him from behind and the two of them jump apart before laughing.

“You know,” she says thoughtfully, “maybe we really should quit smoking.”

&

“So, the two of you,” Jumin says as he takes a sip from his wine glass.

It’s the day of the party and it is, by far, the biggest party they’ve ever held. The crowd is impressive, consisting of some of the most prominent students and alumni of the school.

All thanks to her, of course. Why did they even doubt her in the first place?

Zen tries to limit the number of drinks to just one glass, having learnt his lesson from the after-party debauchery.

“Yep, it looks like it,” he replies, trying to sound nonchalant though it is proving hard to wipe traces of happiness from his voice. He keeps his eyes on her the entire time and watches, amazed at the seamless way she slides into conversation from one guest to another.

“I see.”

A pregnant pause hangs in the air and it was as awkward as it always had been when it’s just the two of them. Zen’s not at all eager to break it—three sentences in on the conversation and an argument had yet to ensue? This must be a record of some sort.

She glances their way, catching his eye. She looks at the pair of them curiously and, he assumes, excuses herself from the president of the romance writer club. She starts walking towards them from across the room.

“You know,” Jumin starts, his eyes trained on her now as well, “she can do better than you.”

 _Ah, here we go,_ Zen thinks but Jumin opens his mouth again before he could go on the offensive.

“...but not by much,” Jumin declares, before walking off in the direction of the bar, leaving Zen speechless in his spot, dumbfounded and relieved and annoyed.

Jumin Han just  _had_  to have the last word.

Zen breaks into a grin, shakes his head and heads towards her direction to meet her halfway.

 &

"Time to go home, Princess," he says once Jumin has finished giving his closing speech and most of the guests have come home. They say goodbye to the rest of the RFA who insist they should finally get some rest and leave the cleaning up to them.

"I'm exhausted," she says, grabbing his hand and flashing him a sleepy smile. "I want to sleep for a thousand years."

"And you'd definitely deserve it," Zen says as they walk towards the parking lot, lifting their intertwined hands to brush his lips upon it.

They approach his motorbike. He hands her a helmet before slipping one on for himself. She rides side-saddle and he takes comfort in her arms wrapped around his waist as they drive across the highway.

It doesn't matter, he thinks, whether that first text that set up their meeting was a coincidence or not because what was important was she was here, with him, and that was enough.


End file.
